Where is the giver of treasure?

The wondering wanderer returns, wondering if wandering about wondering, or indeed wandering, is worth wondering about.

Since I have been away, it seems that the blog world didn't also stop and I have some serious catching up to do. I don't know why this surprised me. Maybe, subconsciously, I had presumed that I was like some sort of cyber-Bagpuss, and that when I didn't blog, none of my friends would blog. In reality, I am probably more akin to Professor Yaffle, wittering on as though I know what I'm on about, when at the end of the day everyone knows I am nothing more than a bookend shaped like a woodpecker.

I really have to work on my similes.

Hands up how many of you read that as 'smilies'?

Hah, bet you feel daft now. You've got your hand up and you're probably on your own. Or in the library. Or one of those internet cafe things where they serve USB compatible paninis. I presume.

You may have noted that I have not got a particular subject in mind today, and am mainly posting because I haven't posted for a while and don't want my blog to rust, or get arthritis or blog-rot, or whatever it is an unused blog gets.

Considering I've just come back from an enjoyable week away in Croatia, I should have lots of things to blog about. And I have, but they're all jumbled up in my head at the moment, fighting it out with the after effects of premium strength lager and a berry aneurysm that I'm hoping will shrink any day now. As soon as they coalesce into something approaching viable blog-fodder, I'll spew them up and out like a lumpy broth of lukewarm brain-vomit for you to splash about in.

I also need to work on my metaphors.

I will, however, compare and contrast the views of the hotels we stayed in after leaving home. We went from Gatwick airport and so, in the interests of making things easy on ourselves, decided to stay over the night before as parking is included and it's not much more expensive than paying for parking only. You can pretend the holiday starts a day early. In Crawley.

The hotel was quite nice but they had to work with what they'd got, and in the middle of Crawley, what you get is the following view:


Oh wow! Is that . . . I believe it could be . . . the Inalnd Revenue office there? Is it? I think so . . . oh wait, no. My mistake. Looks very similar though. Never mind.

Compare that with the view we got from our room in Rovinj, Croatia:

See them? They're trees them are. They're relaxing, are trees. Well, the trees aren't relaxing themselves, obviously, I mean they're relaxing to look at. Unless they are relaxing. Do trees relax? They always seem so tense when you feel them.

As in Crawley though, there was a road nearby, and I saw cars on it nearly three times over the week, but I magnanimously decided not to complain.

I did get a few good pics out of my trip, and no doubt they will spill forth over the next few posts.
Be still your beating hearts, eh?



Another thing whilst I was away was that I got an award! Yay me! Go me! Gimme an Em. Em! Gimme an Ee! Ee! Me!

It was from the vunderful Vic at What Were You Thinking, a blog so full of talent that you could put a floppy hat on it and call it Sir Olivier, so if you haven't experienced her yet, then I recommend that you go and let her do her stuff to you right now.

Well, after you've finished here, I mean. come on. Be fair.

I've had the odd award before, which are usually in the form of a well-travelled internet meme, and comes with a set of rules and an attitude that suggests, if you don't accept it, you will be hunted down by the internet police and subjected to a vicious frowning.

This one is different though. Vic made it herself, and that, in my opinion, makes it a bit like when you get some dried macaroni and glitter stuck to a paper plate from a favourite niece, that you put up and treasure as if it was good art. You know, proper art, like one of those pre-Raphaelite fey maidens looking demurely at a rugged Prince in the distance, whilst wondering how big his willy is.

She even did her own award picture, with a capitalised P to show how respectful she is about my blog:

Now she has picked it, I am presuming she will move on to lick it, roll it and, in due course, flick it.

What more can a chap ask for?

Dishonest Jules - At Least I'm Honest

I've been nominated for an award by the often out-of-context Miss Alaineus, over at her almenac. I like her blog because it's generally pleasant observations of her life, but occasionally she vents her spleen like a non-flossing girl volcano, and that's always fun to watch.

It's an honest bloggers award, although I'm not sure what proof she's got that I'm purer than the driven snow what hasn't been trod in yet. Just cos I don't blog about my kleptomania doesn't mean I don't do it. Actually, I don't practice kleptomania because some dishonest git nicked my big beige trench coat with the deep pockets. This has also seriously hampered my hobbies of poaching, spying and indecent exposure.

I miss my trench coat.

Still, it's nice to be recognised, and this subject seems quite apt after my recent posting about the limits of self-exposure. She hasn't told me where I have to go to pick up my award, or which hotel I'll be staying in, but I'm sure that info is on its way as I type.

In order to meet the criteria for this award (which is a bit like those circulars you get telling you how you might have won a grand prize, so send £10 to this address to register for the grand prize you might have won!), I have to share ten honest things about myself with you lot.

So, I have to have a think.

Ten honest things about me? Ten things? Just the Ten. 10. X. 1010. 1+1+1+1+1+1+1+1+1+1.

Okay:

1) I can't stand touching velvet. This is not a euphemism. I just don't like the feel of the stuff. I even have to grit my teeth when picking up moles.

2) I have been known to pick up moles. With my hands, not on street corners.

3) I can juggle with 4 balls, although not for very long.

4) I hate throwing books out, as they are special, lovely things. The missus and I argue about this as she packs boxes up ready for charitable donation. I argue that they are repositories of information, always at our fingertips like tiny, tiny internets, and any one of them could come in useful at some point. As a devastating counter-arguement, she points out William Shatner's Tekwar next to Darwin's On the Origins of Species. I then help pack the box.

5) I work well both independently and as part of a well-motivated team.

6) I've killed the three baby cabbage plants my friend Jon gave me a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't told him yet.

7) I'm a paramedic.

8) I'm quite good at sharpening knives.

9) I just answered the door to the postman who was delivering a package, and instead of saying "Cheers bud" as I intended, I said "Chasbroth!" in a strangely high pitched voice. This concerned both of us, I think.

10) I was that daft kid who spent most of the day on his own (sometimes out of choice) with a net and jam jar, wondering why he's only got a single big fat dragonfly larva now, when he'd actually collected quite a few other critters out of the stream. This was my introduction to the swirling violence of imminent death and messy consumption that is the mystical circle of life that lions sometimes sing about.

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So there you go. A post sans images, and also possibly sans intérêt, for those who aren't really that bothered by what makes me tick.

Now, although I'm strictly supposed to pass on this award to 7 other suckers bloggers, I hope Miss Alaineus doesn't mind if I renege on this part of the deal. I've meme-ified a few people recently and always feel like I burden them enough just from my posts, let alone making them work extra.

However, I can heartily recommend taking Miss A's advice and writing down 10 honest things about yourself.

It's cathartic.

You can make them up if you like.